


Firsts

by 9r7g5h



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: First Kills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7901278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9r7g5h/pseuds/9r7g5h
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite how cold they had all seemed, they had all had their firsts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I can’t tell if this is complete or not. I can always add more, but ehh. It can be complete for now.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of the Abyss.

Jade's first was when he was five.

It had been a small, barely grown bird, an unlucky monster that had been blown into his family's garden by a westerly wind that was stronger than usual during that time in Keterburg. He had been playing in the yard, his family's high walls blocking off the outside world, allowing him to roam unattended while his mother cooked dinner. Using a stick, he had carefully flipped the bird over, exposing its soft stomach and revealing its twisted wing, the bone obviously broken by the horrid sounds the creature had been making. Naphrey, barely more than a toddler at the time, had hurried to get their parents, claiming that their father would know what to do to save it.

He had had other plans.

When his sister and parents had returned a minute later, there was no sign of a bird. The only thing that was there was Jade, a bloody stick, and a burning pile of feathers that, if one listened closely, was still squeaking.

As his sister started screaming, tears running down her face as their parents attention was divided between making sure the fire didn't spread to the rest of the house and asking him whether the blood was his, Jade had just pushed his already thick glasses closer to his face and smiled.

**************************

Guy's first was when he was eleven.

At his own request, Pere had come up with one excuse or another and had gotten permission from Lady Fabre to take him out of town, away from his duties as Luke's minder for an hour or two to help the aging gardener collect some plants he was sure would be lovely come spring. Her attention divided between her infant-like son and some problem with the maids, she had, not unkindly, waved the two of them off, just reminding Pere that the two of them had to return before dark, lest they get cut off from the upper levels of Batical for the night.

Guy, who by that time could have no more harmed the Lady then he could have his own mother, won over by her constant kindness, had thanked her in that charming way of his and had set off at a run.

Although he had left the manor many times during the time he had been working there, running errands for one nobel or another, it had been years since he had left the city, preferring to stay close to his targets so that, should the opportunity ever arise, he could exact his revenge for the death of his family. However, with the day already promising to be slow, he had decided to take advantage of the situation and find a way to stretch his legs and remind himself of who he really was. With Pere by his side, neither of them having to watch their every word lest it give them away, it wasn't hard to remember his lineage.

It happened as the sun was beginning to sink into the ocean, sending them hurrying back to town and their enemy's home.

A group of men, dressed in rags that did not match the expensive swords that hung from their waists, had stopped them at the entrance to the city, demanding what they claimed was a new entrance fee that had been enacted that very day while they were gone. Without waiting to question their intent, Pere, with Guy quickly following, had drawn his sword and attacked.

Although his every move had been defensive, allowing Pere to take care of the actual killing, one of the men had managed to slip past his guard, his sloppy swordwork somehow managing to find an unlucky weakness in Guy's defense that had allowed his opponent's sword to nick his side. Gasping in shock as a wave of physical pain unlike any he had ever felt raced through him, without thinking, Guy had pulled the knife from his belt and thrust it into the man's neck.

His arms wrapped around the man's shoulder, he had just stood there, the man's blood soaking into his shirt, and watched as he bled out through the hole Guy had put there.

It wasn't until an hour later, after telling their stories to the guards, a pair of travelers that had come upon them vouching for their tales, that he and Pere found themselves back in the manor, standing before the Lady as she fussed over their every scrape and scratch, her hands fluttering as she tried to do everything that they needed at once without actually doing anything. Luke, knowing in that childish way of his that something was wrong, but not understanding it, had just wrapped his arms around Guy's waist and hugged him.

His face still wet with tears as he returned his charge's hug, for the first time, Guy couldn't help but wonder if he really could, when his chance finally came, hurt the little boy that stood in his arms.

**************************

Tear's was when she was thirteen.

It had been an accident, nothing more and nothing less. An unfortunate series of events that just so happened to line up to end in a loss of life. The trainee that had died was dead because of his own faults, and while his death was tragic, it was something that, in the end, would turn out for the best. It was nothing to waste time or tears over, so the best thing she could do was move on.

That was what Lagretta had told her. Tear wasn't so sure she was right.

Biting her lip to keep the tears from falling, Tear bowed her head as she passed the broken section of railing that was tied off with a rope, flimsy protection against the danger that awaited two steps too far over. Rushing down the hall, refusing to meet anyone's gaze, knowing that it would either be accusing or filled with pity, Tear quickly reached her home, the shaking of her hands only stopping when the reassuring click of the lock reached her ears.

Lagretta had been right that it was the trainee's own fault that he had died, for he had been the one to attack her, not the other way around, but the fact still remained that her initial reaction, to push away the grasping hands and kick out to put space between her and her jealous peer, was the reason he was dead.

Leaning her head against the door, the taste of blood filling her mouth as she bit through her lip, a whimper tore itself from her throat as, for the first time since she had taken up her training as a soldier, Tear allowed herself to cry.

**************************

Natalia's was when she was when she was fifteen.

An arrow through the eye.

Swallowing thickly, Natalia forced a smile as she made her way through the camp, waving and congratulating her men on their latest victory in the border skirmishes that had been happening recently between Kimlasca and Malkuth. Lending her healing artes to the easier of the wounds to heal, she clasped the hands of any and all who wanted her touch, bestowing her royal blessing to those who gave their lives to serve her.

An arrow through the eye.

When the crowds that had surrounded her finally dissolved, some to the meal hall, others back to the infirmary to rest, Natalia took advantage of the momentary respite and went to the tent that had been set up for her at the edge of camp, as far from the border as they could get her. Asking for a moment alone from her escort, Natalia forced a deep breath into her clenched lungs, forcing her chest to expand with cleansing air that, hopefully, would heal her.

She promptly threw up into the chamber pot that had been set up in the corner of her room, gagging as wave after wave of bile burned her throat as the memory floated before her eyes.

Her caravan had been attacked by a group of bandits, a group of seven poor, unfortunate souls that had chosen them as an easy target, only to find that the unmarked guards were in fact Kimlasca's finest. Unwilling to sit by and let her men risk themselves for herself, Natalia had strung her bow, grabbed an arrow, and shot it into the fray, hoping against hope that she hit someone who was not one of her own.

She had hit the bandit's leader. In the eye. With her arrow. Killing him instantly.

Spitting one more time, Natalia unplugged her waterskin and drew a mouthful from it, the warm, leathery taste an improvement over the acid that had lain on her tongue. Tilting it back again, she drained the skin before pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, wiping the remains of her last meal from her lips before pushing herself upwards, her back automatically straightening as she pushed the image from her mind. Breathing in a shaky breath, she crumpled the soiled fabric into a ball before stuffing it into her pocket, determined to keep her weakness hidden for as long as possible. Walking back to the entrance to her tent, Natalia smiled cheerfully at her escort as they led her to the archery range.

She might have killed a man, but her duty to her people came before anything else.

**************************

Anise's first was when she was twelve.

She had just been appointed a Fon Master Guardian, one of the most elite Oracle Knights that one could be. Higher than the God-Generals, higher than the Maestros, she answered to no one but Fon Master Ion herself.

It was exeralliterating, but terrifying at the exact same time.

At Dist's suggestion, she had traveled to the outskirts of Daath to test out the newest of Tokunaga's features that he had just added, a 'gift' from him to her, his only acquaintance in the Headquarters that actually seemed to like him, to celebrate her rise in power. Agreeing with the older, semi-strange man, she had eagerly set off, her thumb running over the small metal spikes that stuck out from her dolls' hands and feet, curved inwards towards the paw so that they would serve a variety of uses, from picking up and throwing things to scratching the enemy, all of which she was sure would come in handy in the times to come that she was guarding Ion.

She had just reached the forest when a growl rang throughout the air, sending tremors down her spine as she enlarged Tokunaga, clambering onto his back so that she could see the approaching enemy through the gaps between the trees. Snarling out a curse, she had lept into battle, her doll already swinging his newly clawed arms even as a fonic arte formed on her lips, sending a blade of darkness ripping through the monster that had tried to sneak up on her before it could even move, shattering its spine just moments before the spikes sunk into its flesh, easily finishing off the wolf that had dared try to challenge the newest of the Guardians. A flood of excitement rushing through her, Anise had jumped to the ground from Tokunaga's back, her smiling widening even more at the prospect of getting to see the dangerous creature she had just destroyed without a single thought.

The smile froze on her face even as bile rose within her throat, a reaction to the picture that was now cruelly spread before her, an all important piece to her puzzle that she had been missing falling into place now that she could look it in the eyes and watch it die.

it was a child, one no older then she was herself, though obviously it was the son of one of the citizens, one who had remained a civilian instead of choosing to enter the Order when he came of age. His body had laid twisted in the shadow of the dog, a mangy old mutt that she could now see would have posed her no harm even if it had been out for her. Whether his final expression had been one of rage or confusion, she would never know, for part of his face had been torn away by one of Tokunaga's claws, a shredded piece of flesh that even in his shrunken state had hung from the spike, almost taunting her as it waved slowly back and forward in time with her movements. Her entire body shaking, Anise had done the only thing she could have, had run racing from the forest as fast as she could to the only person who could ever make it all better.

Mohs had been quick in the clean up, and even after a young mother came to him, begging for help in finding her lost child, he had remained calm as he promised her assistance that he knew would be useless to offer.

Although Mohs had been quick to promise her that it was okay, that there had truly been no harm done, for, according to the Score, it had been his time to go, the deep sense of guilt, one that she had just continued to dig deeper and deeper with each day she reported to Mohs about Ions' movements and ideals, never seemed to go away.

Nor would it ever.

**************************

Van's first had been when he was three.

And his people had never let him forget it.

It had been during one of his tests, one of the many experiments that his fate, the one that had been written for him in the Score, had declared he was to be put through, that the machines began to malfunction, going into overload even as he tore at the wires that connected him to it. Screaming for help as one wrapped itself around his wrist, cutting into his skin as he struggled to get free of the imminent explosion he knew, just knew, was going to happen, it had been with eyes wide with disbelief that he watched the men his father had turned him over to that morning race from the room, yelling order after order for protocols he never could have understood. Begging, pleading, for help as his struggles drew blood to the surface of his skin under the copper wire, his words fell on deaf ears, for a moment later, the three-inch thick steel doors slid closed before him, leaving him to face his death alone.

"Damn you kid, but I can't just let you die like this."

Watching with a different kind of amazement as the man untwisted the wire from around his wrist and lifted him into his arms, a feeling of safety settled over Van as the masked scientists ran towards the door, his fist already reaching out to pound on the metal that separated them from safety. Raising his voice to be heard over the high pitched scream of steam forcing itself from one of the pipes, he called for them to open the door, quickly turning frantic as his calls went unanswered. Twisting as a piece of metal flew through the air, the man turned his body so he was twisted around Van, the child pressed close to his chest as a stream of curses fell from his lips.

"Damn it kid, if I die because of you, I'm gonn-"

His words dissolved into screams as the machine exploded, and the world turned to white.

It was hours later that they shifted the rubble enough to find him, still clenched in the grip of his unwilling savior. He was burned, he was scratched and scraped, he was almost dead from exposure, but he was alive. The other man wasn't.

That scientists was the first on the long list of people who had died because of him, and out of them all, he was the one Van regretted the most.

**************************

When Luke's first came around, it had been with almost scathing acceptance that they told him to stay back, to hang up his sword when it became clear that he wouldn't be strong enough to fight, to kill, when the time came. It had been with a slight shock of surprise that he refused their proposal, instead gritting his teeth and mourning in silence when his blade was dyed red with more human life. He had finally learned that to kill was to live, and for them, that was enough.

But in the deepest parts of their hearts, all of them could remember their first kills, for it had been at those exact moments that they had taken the first of the steps that would lead them to becoming the seemingly cold-blooded killers the world needed them to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Asch's first was when he was ten.

He was cold, cruel, and unflinching as he moved through the halls, his sword already dripping with the blood of the monsters he had had to face in the basement of his own castle. They had left him there, the guards that were suppose to be watching him, making sure he didn't run or try to escape. They had been the ones to summon the monsters in the first place, promising him that he would be safe while they did it, so long as he stayed in his damp, rotten hay-lined room. It hadn't even been minutes after they had heard the first telltale growl that they had left, promising him a cookie if he was a good boy and still there when they returned.

He'd been their captive for almost two weeks, and had stopped trusting them on the very first day.

Ducking out of the way as a bat flew too close for comfort to his face, the then Luke quickly summoned a ball of fire, he face twisting as he struggled to draw together the fonons needed for the spell. Tossing it towards the flying beast with a wordless cry on his lips, his sword swung in a downwards arch as the creature dropped like a stone, its wing singed and unusable from his fonic arte. Within moments, it too was dead, just another corpse he had left in his wake as he attempted to flee from this personal hell that the one man he had trusted above almost all else had thrown him into. Taking a moment to pause and steady himself, content to watch the puddle of blood that had started to spread through along the lines of the stones until the pounding in his head had passed, the boy who was soon to be known as Asch forced himself to breath deeply, gritting his teeth to keep himself silent until the pain had passed.

Whatever they had done to him, whatever Master Van had allowed his scientists to do to him in that giant machine that had made him this weak, this sick, this shaky, they all would pay for it.

Sighing as the spinning stopped, the original Luke was quick to restart his journey, the oversized sword that he had found in a trunk perpetually pointed downwards while his overly large cloak slid on the ground behind him, already filthy from the decades of muck and grime it had wiped from the floor. Neither of these, however, were a burden, for although he was only ten years old, the training he had done with his master had left him quick and strong, more then able to compensate for his shortcoming that had developed in the weeks since he had been kidnapped and dragged here.

Van had trained him much better then the man actually thought he had.

Pausing as a distant growl met his ear, Asch was quick to raise his sword against the ghoul that lept for him, its mouth wide with hunger that called to be sated. For a single, unbearable moment, he could feel the monster's supposed magic working on him, telling him to lower his sword and that everything would be perfectly alright. That, once he put down his weapon, he would have no other worried to care about. That all it would take is one single, fluid movement, just a moment of relaxing his muscles to let his arms fall to the side to rest, and he could go home to his parents and his beloved Natalia.

Asch swung instead, a single uppercut that allowed the torn remains of the creature to sail past him on either side, once more splattering his face, clothes, and hair with its blood. Vigorously shaking himself, sending a few more droplets onto the already dripping walls, it was with his first smile in a long while, one that was filled with bitterness and a deep seated hatred for his situation, but a smile none that less, that he realized that there would be no getting rid of the blood that had stained him that night, at least not until he had returned home to the family and friends that awaited him there.

Turning his back on the already dissolving monster, the original Luke fon Fabre raced up the stairs, his fists pumping as he strived to find his way out of the castle so he could finally go home.

'Luke the Bloody,' he thought as he ran, watching out of the corner of his eye as a tiny rivulet slid down his wrist, leaving an impression of a gaping wound in its wake. 'Heh. For now, at least until I can find something better, it'll have to do.'


	3. Chapter 3

Dist's first was when he was twenty.

Even at such an age and rank within the Order, when most had sullied themselves with the gore of battle, thru his many marvelous machines, he had managed against all odds to keep himself pure, clean, a perfect specimen of what real humanity was suppose to be. He was a marvel, something rare and beautiful that could only be found once, maybe twice, in a lifetime in this twisted world, a wonder that had been carefully preserved. He was the result of millenniums of careful genetic choice, a tedious process done by his ancestors with the very thought of him in mind, and because of it, he was perfection personified.

Of course, he had no illusions about himself. Dist was well aware that the only reason he had risen so quickly through the ranks of the Order was because of his mind, his best asset by far. The Order had needed him for his wondrous intellect, had practically come crawling to him in an attempt to make him join and fix their many fon machine-based problems, and while it had pained him to leave his dear friend Jade in the grasp of those brutes in the Malkuth military, the promise of his own lab and full permission to perform any side experiments he wanted had been far too tempting to resist. Now, with full reign over his realm and servants galor to do as he bid and remind him of just how superior he was, life couldn't possibly get any more perfect.

Though if his aides would just stop that infernal screaming, it might help some in reaching that next level.

Vile creases defiling his otherwise flawless skin, Dist slowly lowered the wrench he had been using to tune up his latest creation, a small artificial monster that could be used in training without permanently harming the newest of the recruits, allowing them to gain their feet before being thrown into a real battle. Sighing deeply, an even greater sign of the distress he currently found himself in, Dist gently patted his still sleeping child before rising from his plush work chair, his eyes already gleaming behind his glasses as he turned to follow the shrill and unpleasant sound down one of the many hidden passageways his lab had been created with, the entrance made to look like an innocent bookcase by a fonic glyph he had secretly inscribed onto the floor.

Although the walk was neither long nor strenuous, by the time Dist reached the source of the screams, a room well tucked into the back of his lab, kept secret by all precautions possible, he was both out of breath and slightly sweating, two states that were not becoming of someone of his importance. Swearing to himself that a chair that could move on its own would be his next greatest invention, he paused for a moment to collect himself before he announced his presence, careful that every hair was perfectly in place for his grand entrance.

"What, in the name of Lorelei, are you fools doing! I thought I told you to dispose of that thing hours ago!"

His mock rage well exaggerated, causing his people's faces to blanch as they saw him, it was still not enough to move them from their corner, their backs pressed hard against the wall as they tried to avoid any contact with the writhing creature that laid bound to the table before them.

Despite its deformed appearance, it was a replica that had the supposedly second greatest minds to grace this world cowering together, a malformed copy of one of their companions, though its original had died days ago, making the creature less than useless. It was the first replica of a living thing that had been made in over four years, ever since that infernal ban on the study of live organisms had been passed, and the results had been less than satisfying. Deciding to cut his losses before they became too great for him to handle, Dist had finally pulled the plug, leaving it to his servants to clean up their mess.

"I am surrounded by uncultured morons," Dist shouted in rage as he advanced towards them, his hands shaking in a quite convincing way, though inside he remained as calm, cool, and collected as ever. These fits he occasionally threw were nothing more then acts to keep his many minions in line, making those who were too dimwitted to love him fear him instead. Seeing that none of them were going to obey him, their fear of the still wailing monster overriding their fear of him, in a single, regrettable, moment of true emotion, Dist found this to be beyond unacceptable.

So, he acted.

Darting out his hand to grab one of the scalpels that laid on the table next to him, it was with a truly vicious gleam within his eyes that Dist turned to glare at the creature before him, his gaze severely displeased with the result his work had created. Where before there had only been perfection, now there were flaws, mistakes, imperfections that were taunting him, laughing at him with mismatched warped features that made up the pitiful excuse of a face. Without a single conscious decision as to how he was to dispose of the mocking thing, dist found himself at the monster's side, a deep, fatal, surgeon precise slit opening its neck into a macabre grin, causing a gasping gurgle to escape from the replica as it struggled to breathe.

Within a few minutes, the replica fell silent and still, prompting dist to finally turn towards his people, his formerly snow white skin and clothing now a gruesome scene of dried and stained blood that had splattered onto him. Although inwardly shaken by his actions, for it had been in that moment that his innocent name had finally been tainted by the blood of another beast, outwardly, he was calm, his eyes almost dead themselves as he slowly twirled the scalpel. Taking the few steps forwards that he needed, Dist slowly placed the small knife back on to its table, gently, almost lovingly, adjusting it so that it lined up perfectly with the others, before bending close to the still cowering aids that were supposed to be doing his dirty work for him. Staring deeply into each of their eyes, Dists's voice was deep when he finally spoke, just as deadly as his temper had turned out to be just moments ago.

"Clean it up. Now."

Watching with satisfaction as his servants finally fell tripping over themselves to fulfill his wishes, their fear of him now greater than it had ever been, Dist slowly made his way back towards the main room of his lab, his eyes locked onto the hand that had slit the replicas' throat. Surprisingly, it was steady, despite the series of tremors that were running down his back, threatening to send him curling into a ball in the corner, a sobbing mess until one of his superiors finally arrived to find him. Clenching it into a fist, his perfectly manicured nails digging through the glove into his palm, it was finally with a shrug that Dist went about his day.

Every rose needed thorns, and red roses were much more elegant than white ones anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Largo's first had been when he was thirteen.

Even as a boy he had had a man's stature, inheriting his grandfathers' supposed size quickly enough to soon dwarf both his own father and the house the man had built for them just outside out Belkend. Scientists, his parents had been quick to begin studying his genetic make-up and fonic signature, excited for the chance to perhaps learn more about the human body then was currently known. Although they were gentle, careful to never push their beloved son further then either he or they were willing to go for the advancement of science, Badaq, as he was then called, soon decided that the city was nothing more then trouble, and that home was a cramped room with a bed too small and doorways too short from his to pass.

Because of this, as a gift for his good behavior during their trials, despite their hatred of violence, his parents soon allowed him to trail after the sword fighters and mercenaries that came to visit their town, some to explore their latest advancements, others for a good meal and clean bed before a trip into the marshes for riches supposedly beyond their wildest imaginations. Impressed both by his size and his willingness to learn, a few who had decided to stay in town for a few days agreed to spend their time training him, hours spent here and there as they worked through different weapons for him with promises to later repay them by being an extra arm as they faced the dangers of multiple terrains during trips for gold and gald. With time and growth spurts, he soon became a force to be reckoned with, though he was careful to keep his progress secret from his parents, lest they change their minds and forbid him to enter the forest alone, a punishment beyond all others that he knew he would obey without question.

He had been quick to settle on a scythe as his weapon, though many he had trained with had scorned the weapon as being impractical in real battle. It was a sentiment he could appreciate and understand, for in a fight, it was hard to juggle defense against an attacker with minding the position of teammates and allies, for the wide and wild arch of his tool could just as easily spell their doom as it could an enemies. However, for those he trained with, traveling into the depths of the mountains that surrounded the city without ever actually leaving its sight, strategies quickly formed as they recognized his skill and worked to fix his flaws. For all its impracticality, his scythe was both stronger and quicker then most of their swords, allowing him to carve a path of wolf, bird, and giant bee corpses as they struggled towards their goal before most of them could even enter the fight. As such, it quickly became common for the older, more experienced fighters to allow him the joy of battle, instead preferring to hang back and clean up as they moved, only charging to take the hits when the trail became too narrow for Badaq to fight.

Despite his young, fooling age, he soon became the most sought after fighter in the entire city, a title that he was overjoyed to find took him farther and farther away from the labs and the cramped hallways that always hid his concerned parents from eye sight, if not hearing.

He had just turned thirteen when the band of men can to find him, a group of warriors unlike any that he had ever seen before. Instead of adventurers looking for some fun and excitement with the vague promise of gald thrown in, they were professionals, men who stalked the night as they searched for their prey, sometimes working to protect the peace, other times doing nothing that didn't have their own interests in it first. They were a wild bunch, nomads that traveled from city to city, looking for either their next victim or employer, the distinction being made by how much gald could be offered at the time of their meeting. A hard bunch, directly spoken and quick to reach the point, even his age didn't turn their heads when they asked him to join them.

His parents were furious, to say the least, for even though most though of him as a man, in their eyes he was still nothing more then a child, abit one that easily towered over all the rest he had ever met. Even amongst the warriors, all of whom were older and more scarred them he was, telling tale of the many battles they had managed to survive, it was he that drew the eye and the purse, his mere presence with them in the tavern they had found him in gaining the group three tasks before he had even joined. He was to be a business partner, no more, and if he was to die, as his parents feared he would, it would be more likely at the hands of the men that wanted him to join them then a monster that had he was to face in the heat of battle. They wanted their son to have nothing to do with the men, and that was that.  
So, of course he went.

Leaving nothing more then a note to reassure them, Badaq had been quick to pack his belongings, a few changes of clothing and some food the only other possessions he had besides his scythe and a pouch of gald, heavy from his many outings into the woods before this day. More excited than he ever could have imagined by the prospect of the adventures that awaited him and his soon to be band of brothers, it had been under the cover of night that Badaq the child left to to meet his future.

It had been Badaq, the man who would soon be known as the Lion of the Desert, that had returned home that next morning, his scythe blooded and the heads of his brothers carefully packed into a bag, ready to be turned in for the rewards that had appeared within town the night before.

Dawn had been a few hours off when the band of men turned on him, their weapons gleaming in the night as they surrounded him, leaving him no way to escape except to fight for his freedom and life. The leader, the one who had welcomed with with open arms and an encouraging smile when he had turned up at the inn just a few hours before, had been the first to speak, promising him that, should be hand over the his money and supplies, they would allow him to return home safe and sound, a few hundred glad poorer, but alive none the less. However, it had been the restless way the others moved that told their leaders' lie, for the glint of their drawn weapons as they angled closer to him told quite clearly that they never intended to let him return home alive. With his only options being between handing over his hard earned money and being cut down from behind and fighting to death, his pouch of gald only then pried from his dead hands, the choice had been clear.

Hoping to play off their underestimation of him, Badaq had drawn his scythe and prepared to fight.

In a single decision that could have only been attributed to luck, his enemies had decided that their best course of action was to attack him all at once.

A grim smile growing upon his face, Badaq had slowly allowed his weapon to weave before him, his eyes glancing from one face to the next as he examined their moves, his past battles and practices against the others that had come to explore the hills near his home showing him their flaws and weaknesses. Now that he could watch them, it was clear that the men before him were no more men then he was, even less so, for he at least could use the blade that sat so easily within his hand. In comparison, it was clear that the supposed 'warriors' were as competent as newborns, their own weapons rusty from disuse and already wavering in arms unuse to wielding them. His confidence growing with each gaze that was averted as he twisted to look at each member of the group that was planning on killing him, it wasn't until he had reached the leader, the largest and only member that seemed to have seen battle, that he slowly nodded, seeming to lower his scythe in defeat.

The smug smile on the man's face was the last expression it would ever hold, for the moment he stepped forward to take the weapon from him, Badaq had struck, sending his head rolling with only a slightly interested glance after it to recognize that its departure from its body was his own doing.

From then on, it was a slaughter.

For months afterwards, those whom he had considered his friends would tiptoe around him, their whispers of his deeds hissing reminders that he was a murderer, one protected by the fact that it was him or them, that he had only followed the age old rule of kill or be killed, nothing more. His parents, for all they tried to forget, would be the worse of them all, for while the others pretended warmth and companionship when he was near, they would become distant and cold, preferring to leave their only child to the peace he had once craved but now despised. Silently, he would accept the treatement and watch as his world fell around him, for one day, he was sure, it would fix itself.

And fix itself it did, in the face of a merchant's daughter named Sylvia, and the job her father would come to offer as a guard.

Unfortunately, it was this bandage that would only lead to an infection that would kill the man that was Badaq, and to the birth of Largo the Black Lion.


	5. Chapter 5

Sync's first had been when he was three months old.

"Van wants me. Van needs me. Van said so, Van promised..."

Quietly, softly, his voice barely audible, the child continued his chanting, his fingers gently running themselves over the painful burns and half healed scabs that covered his arms, the worse reminders of his recent trauma that still remained. Even though it had been weeks since he had been brought here, weeks since he had been saved from the fiery death that had swallowed the other five of his brothers, he had still not been fully healed.

They were afraid of what affect the seventh fonon might have on him, should he be exposed to it too quickly and too soon, and so he was being forced to heal naturally.

Hopefully it wouldn't scar.

"Van wants me. Van needs me. Van said so, Van promised..."

For weeks he had been muttering that phrase non-stop, perfecting the few words he actually knew until they came without thought, rolling off the tip of his tongue to grace the air around him. He liked the sound of his own voice, a high, child-like one that could be both cruel and kind, and his voice, combined with the words, soothed him whenever the memories began to come back.

The fire, the pain, the screams of his brothers, and the smell of his burning flesh awoke him most nights, and it was almost always with that in mind that he would begin to speak.

"Van wants me. Van needs me. Van said so, Van promised..."

It had been a while since Van had come to visit him, but that was alright! The only time he knew was the food deliveries that happened three times a day, a simple but delicious fare that always ended in his medicine, a tasty, fragrant, jelly-like bulb that always made him feel better once he had eaten it. It made him feel good, feel strong, and his skin always hurt a little less afterwards, so it was with eager anticipation that he awaited the meals. Even if the only person he interacted with was the kind woman who brought him his food, who would stay for a couple of minutes to talk to him each day, that was okay. Van was a very busy, important man, someone who didn't have time to deal with injured people. Van needed him to be strong, and so he would get there.

No matter what it took, he would make Van proud.

"Van wants me. Van needs me. Van said so, Van promi-AHH!"

Without warning, the door to his room flew open, letting in more light then he had seen since before he had been brought here. The light had scared him at first, had forced him to think of the place he and his brothers had been put to die, and so the kind lady had put out the lanterns, leaving only one, single light to keep him company. After a while, although the darkness was lonely sometimes, he had come to prefer it, leaving the lights dim even after they no longer scared him. It was comforting, just like his words and the kind lady's voice, and so he felt no need to change it.

This light, this light was almost more then he could take. Shrinking to the back of his room, his sore hands covering his watering eyes, the child waited quietly with only a few whimpers to mark his fear for whatever was happening to begin.

"Is this how you greet me?"

"Van," the child rasped happily, forcing his arms to his sides even as the water in his eyes spilled over, leaving painful marks down his scorched cheeks. "You came back!"

"Of course child," Van said as he stepped farther into the room, the light illuminating him from behind so that his features were hidden, though his voice was clear. "I promised, didn't I? Besides, I had to come see if you were ready to be of use to me...and to bring you a present."

A gasp sounded from the child as a person, bound and gagged, was pushed past Van, falling to the floor with a thud and a muffled 'Umph!' Walking farther into the room, his face becoming clearer the farther away he got from the light source, Van gently rolled the person, a man, over with his foot so that his face was facing towards the light, illuminating his features for the child to see. Watching his reaction, it was only a moment later that Van spoke once more.

"Child, do you recognize this man?"

"I...I do...He's the one who..." The child spoke softly, his words failing him each time as he stared at the man on the ground before him, his eyes wide and almost fearful as he recognized the scar that ran from his temple to his lip, the color of the hair, and the hardness in the cold, green eyes.

"Yes, child. This is the man that killed your brothers. That tried to kill you."

Numbly, the child watched as Van approached even closer, until he was standing right besides the bed upon which he sat. Kneeling down so that they were at eye level, Van's voice was soft as he whispered to the child, placing the words the boy needed to hear so that he would do his bidding.

"Do you want to be useful to me, child?"

A nod, a desperate sign of the loyalty and twisted love that the boy had been raised upon the last few weeks. Smiling at this, Van slid a long, thin dagger into the child's hand, his continued words just as soft, but much more ominous.

"Then kill him."

Without hesitation, the boy plunged the knife into the man's eye, cutting off an annoying screech as he jerked it from its fleshy sheath to use it to cut his throat, turning the agonizing scream into a whispering gurgle instead. Smiling, wiping the splattered blood from his face, the child turned back towards Van, his eyes wide as he searched for the approval he so longed for. To his delight, Van was nodding, a small smile on his own face as he took in the bloody mess the boy had made.

However, it was not yet over.

"Do you really want to be useful to me," Van asked as the assistants he had brought with him dragged the body away, leaving a pretty trail of red in their wake. Once again nodding furiously, the child turned towards the door that Van had just motioned to, ready and willing to do any and everything asked of him.

Standing there, to his confusion, was the kind lady.

"Her too," Van said with a command in his voice as he gestured towards the kind lady, obviously impatient as the child hesitated to strike. "If you ever want to be useful to me, you will kill her now!"

Walking slowly towards her, for a long while the child just stared at her, memorizing every feature of her face that he already knew so well. Her eyes, he discovered, were not the almost black he had first thought they were, but a deep blue, a kind blue that even now, rolling as they were with fear and terror, were looking at him with the most kindness and motherly love he had ever been shown.

"Do it child."

He was quick, swift, almost too fast for them to comprehend, so when his knife buried itself into her heart, the most painless death he could think of, it was with a cry of surprise that the assistants that had been holding her dropped the kind lady to the ground, leaping aside as she slumped into a still quivering heap. Staring at her, it was with a slight jump that the child felt Van's hand fall to his shoulder, startling him out of the thoughts that had become frozen within his mind.

"Very good...Sync. You have become very useful to me."

Within an hour, the lights had once again been dimmed in his freshly clean room, leaving him to his words and his voice.

"Van wants me. Van needs me. Van said so, Van promised..."

But even as he spoke, the only thing the newly named Sync wanted was for the kind lady to talk to him again, to tell him that everything would be alright, to give him one of her special hugs that had made him feel less scared and sing the song she had sung to him every night to help him fall asleep, and for her to smile at him one more time with her kind blue eyes. But as the tears rolled down his face, he knew that would never happen again.

"Van wants me. Van needs me. Van said so, Van promised..."

It was because of himself that he would never see the kind lady again, but maybe, just maybe, so long as Van needed him, that would be okay.

"Van promised."


	6. Chapter 6

Arietta's first was when she was seven.

A hiss of pain stole itself from her lips as one of her newest brothers nipped at her skin, grazing the flesh in a painfully friendly way to draw the slightest drips of blood. Growling a warning back at him, her own teeth closing around the back of his neck in warning, it was with a barking huff that she forced him to return his attention to their mother, their eyes focused and attentive as the liger queen led them through the forest.

It was her first hunt, the first she had been allowed to join her family on, and she was determined to not mess it up.

Coming to a halt as her mother paused, it was with a curious glance around her that Arietta found her siblings sniffing the air, their bodies tense as they searched for the faint scent they longed for. Sinking towards the ground so that she was level with one of her sisters, her nose quickly found the traces their mother had found first, telling a tale they all wished to hear. Someone, a prey of the male type, had passed through their forest alone not too long ago, weaving through the undergrowth with an uncanny ease that alluded most of the ones they hunted. It had been ages since she had smelt the mouthwatering smell, her only knowledge of it from the small blood stains she had licked from her mother's coat after she had returned with her siblings after a successful hunt, but even the passage of time had been unable to force it to fade from her mind.

It was meat, and as far as Arietta was concerned, she was hungry.

Forcing herself to rise back to her full height, wavering slightly as she supported herself on her back paws instead of all four, it was with a slight whine that she trotted towards her mother, nuzzling her face into the flowing mane that surrounded the ligers' head. Shivering slightly as the queen swiped at her side with her tongue, leaving a wet spot that the wind quickly chilled, it was with a growl of assent that Arietta was allowed to clamber onto her back, her body quickly encased in warmth as she sunk into the fur. Waiting until the rest of her children had reassembled behind her, it was only a moment longer before the liger queen was running, her own paws making no noise as they flew through the forests even despite the extra weight of her ugly, beautifully strange child.

Turning her head as the death cry of a bird monster faintly sounded through the forest, it was with a silent signal that the pack of ligers headed towards the sound, knowing full well what they would find: their next meal.

Burying herself deeper into her mother's voluminous coat, it was with a sigh that Arietta tightened her grip, the tips of her fingers digging into her palm as she struggled to stay on the leaping liger. Although part of her was thankful that her mother loved her enough to care so much for her, carrying her and taking care of her when another species would have left her to die long ago for her weakness, she couldn't help but despise her inability to be helpful to the pack, often forcing them to use valuable time to find fruits and nuts for her when they could have been tracking the latest creature they had decided to feast on. Without her, she knew well that Mother would have had such an easier time raising the newest of her brood, teaching them how to hunt and stalk as she had done with her older children, uninhibited by her uselessness. But whenever she had expressed these doubts, it had been her mother herself that had destroyed them, driving them away for the moment with the fact that she would be useful when she was older.

And finally, finally, she was old enough to help.

Their pace slowing as the smell of freshly spilt blood reached their noses, it was with a silent shrug of her shoulders that Mother expressed her desire for Arietta to slide from her back, allowing her bald cub only a single moment to catch her breath before nudging her back onto her back paws, forcing her to stand in the way of her unknown people. Although she didn't know why, Arietta knew well that there was a reason her mother was forcing her to move in such as strange way, though it had never crossed her mind to question it. Seeing that the rest of her pack were peering through a thick screen of bushes into a clearing beyond, it was with a rush of excitement that she joined them.

It was only because absolute silence during a hunt had been drilled into her over and over by her mother that Arietta was able to silence that gasp that found its way to her tongue.

The pray looked like her. Although it was obviously male and much older then herself, for his scent and the whiteness in his hair spoke of ages passed, the creature that stood before her was clearly of the same kind as her, though he was still just as strange to her as he was to her siblings. Covered in strange, brightly colored fur that Arietta decided must grow in with age, for she herself was only protected by the thickness of her forest-scarred skin, it was with a flourish that the male wiped his strange, shining tooth against the ground before returning it to its covering that hung from her waist. Watching as the creature surveyed the carnage that he had caused, an entire flock of birds killed when one or two would have well sated his hunger, it was with a twinge of curiosity that she watched him draw another tooth from his waist, though this time it was shorter and duller. Waiting until he had turned his back towards the pack, his body bent over a bird to strip the carcass of feathers and meat, it was with silent steps that she returned to her mother's side, her question clear in every move that she made.

What do we do now?

Bending her great head so that her muzzle was pressed close to her daughter's face, her hot breath quickly warming the cub's ear, it was with the softest of growls that the queen gave her answer.

"We kill it."

Releasing a howl that was quickly answered by her children, the liger queen quickly lept into the clearing, her tail whipping behind her as she landed upon her unexpecting prey. Waiting for the rest of her pack to follow behind her, their hungry teeth bared as they swarmed the area, it was with a silent nod that they fell upon the remains of the birds, each fighting for the scraps it deserved. Letting out a yelp as sharp teeth pierced her side, Arietta snarled as she fell on the sibling that, in its bloodrage, had attacked her. Leaping onto its back, the wild girl quickly forced the female into submission, her strange limbs giving her an advantage over her sister's wild thrashing. Hanging on, it was only moments before the liger's cries of rage became whimpers of pain, her feet sliding out from under her as Arietta bit the sensitive bit of skin over her spine, threatening death if the struggle continued. Releasing the youngling, it was with a sign that Arietta righted herself, ready to eat the spoils that awaited her, only to find that only bones remained.

Gritting her teeth, angry that she had allowed herself to be pulled from the first bits of meat she would have been allowed in months, it was only a calling huff from her mother that kept her from returning to the fray and finishing what she had started.

"Oh, for the sake of Lorelei, please, girl, help me!"

Leaping back with a hiss, it was with a shock of surprise that Arietta realized that the male was still alive, trapped instead of crushed beneath her mother's large paws. Although she couldn't understand the sounds that were coming from his muzzle, she could smell the stink of fear and hear the desperation in his voice, two things that she was well familiar with. Stalking slightly closer as her mother summoned her with a twist of her ears, it was with a mewl of confusion that Areitta found herself close enough to examine the creature's face, though she only gave it the most passing of glances as her mother spoke.

Even filled with fear, his eyes were the prettiest green that she had ever seen.

"Kill him."

Her surprise holding her in place as her mother rose to her full height, only pausing long enough to use her sharp claws to cut away and steal the male's strange teeth, it was with a twist of her head that Arietta found herself in the center of a circle, her siblings closing the gaps so as to allow her prey no chance of escape. Even as she watched the male struggle to his feet and charge towards one of her brothers, it was with a detached growl that the sibling sent the male reeling back towards her, his pretty fur torn and slightly damp with blood that had been drawn by a slash of the liger's claws. The smell of his fear growing stronger as he took in the scratches, it was once more that he made those weird noises.

"Please, help me! Girl, let me live and you'll be rewarded handsomely. Call off your monsters and I swear, you will want for nothing. Please, in the name of Lorelei, save me!"

Looking at her mother, it was only with a tilt of her head that she received a confirming rumble of sound.

"Kill him."

Baring her teeth in a silent snarl, her front paws curled into the claws that would give her the grip she needed, it was with the deadliest of growls that she sprang toward him, her fangs piercing the unprotected flesh of his neck with only the smallest of resistance.

For what seemed like an eternity, her prey just stood there, the shock and surprise clear within his eyes as she clamped her jaws tighter around her hold, sending a gush of blood into her mouth as she did so. Raising his arms as if he was either going to hold her closer or push her away, with was with a gurgled gasp that he allowed himself to sink to his knees, which in turn allowed Arietta to release the hold her paws had taken on his fur to hold herself up for a better position on the ground. Turning her head so that her teeth pulled free, it was with the slightest feeling of confusion that she realized that the fight her body had been expecting was not to come, for it seemed as if the male had accepted his fate. Sniffing slightly in derision, for only the weakest of the weak accepted death without a struggle, it was with a slight shrug that she twisted herself so that she was facing his back. Rearing up so that her front paws were clutching the fur on his back, it was with a sigh that she decided to finish it quickly.

Once again baring her teeth, it was only a moment's work to clamp them around the man's spine, her mouth automatically finding that same spot that she had threatened her sister with only moments before. Wrenching her head to the side, her teething tightening their hold as she did so, it was with a resounding crack that the male's body dropped from her mouth, the nonexistent battle finally over.

Licking her lips to clean them of the blood that had come to cover them during the battle, it was with a bow of her head towards her mother that Arietta backed away from the body, some of her siblings already starting forward to lick the rest of the grime that she had spilt down her torso from her skin. Pausing as her mother called out to her with a growl, it was with an answering whine that she turned back, her body crouched to the ground incase a punishment was coming. Never before had she been allowed to kill the meat they ate, so while she had done her best, she could never know if she had pleased her mother or not. However, instead of finding a cuffing paw or a threatening snarl, she was met with a pleased sniff and lick on the chin, cleaning away a dribble of blood that had already started to dry. Her mother's nose finding its way to the center of her back, it was with a small nudge that Arietta found herself back by the side of the body, its green eyes staring unseeingly at the sky above. Twisting her paw so that her claws her aligned, it was with the quickest of swipes that the liger queen ripped through the male's strange furs and the flesh beneath, exposing the tender meat below. Bending her head, the monster only waited long enough to growl one word to her daughter before beginning her meal, her eyes closing in pleasure as her teeth tore into the waiting meal.

"Eat."

For a single, terrifying moment, Arietta felt the urge to growl 'no.' Staring at the creature, the male that had pleaded with her in those strange, unintelligible words, something within her balked at the idea of devouring him, despite the fact that he was rightfully food, just as the birds had become meals for her siblings. Perhaps it was the fact that he was the first creature she had ever seen that even remotely resembled her, but for one reason or another, the idea of eating him made her stomach turn and her former hunger flee. Hesitating, it only took one more look at her mother to know that she had no choice in the matter.

"Eat, my daughter," her mother growled quietly, her amber eyes flashing, "or be eaten yourself."

Shrugging off the unease she had felt moments before, it was with relish that she sunk her teeth into the warm meat, her hunger renewing itself as the thought of food filled her mind and mouth. Happily swallowing her mouthful, it was with a quick movement that she leaned over to lick her mother's muzzle in gratitude, thanking her for sharing her meal with her. Returning to her portion of the meat, it was only after she had eaten her fill that she returned her gaze to the male's face, especially his eyes. Although they had already begun to cloud over with the gaze of death, they were still the prettiest of greens she had ever seen.

Perhaps, if her mother had no desire to eat them, she would let her keep them, as playthings, until they had become too rancid for her to carry on her tongue. And maybe, just maybe, if she asked nicely, Mother would let her have the next set as well.

Climbing onto her mother's back after the liger queen had finished bathing her, licking away the blood that had come to cover her from the fight and subsequent meal, it was with a happy smile as she gazed at the colored orbs within her hand that Arietta allowed herself to doze, her mother's movements lulling her into half dreams of the next time they would find a creature like her and the delicious taste of the meat they gave.


	7. Lagretta's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And I'm finally finishing the 'Firsts' fic. Sorry it's taken so long. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of the Abyss.

Lagretta's first had been when she was twenty-one.

From the moment she had been born, Giselle Oslo had known that she was destined for a very, very ordinary life. And according to the Score that had been read at her birth, it had been everything she ever could have wanted. Destined to follow her brother and join the Oracle Knights, she was to one day meet and fall in love with a man of great power and distinguished blood, one who had already accomplished and was meant for many great things. After helping to raise his orphaned sister, a girl who was to find that her own future was to be just as great as her brother's, they were to have a family, three children that she herself had to carry and many others that they were to adopt from the cruelties of war. Despite the destruction that was to ravage Aldrant, they were to remain untouched, their kin swelling with each generation, passing on their shared bloodlines for ages to come. When, finally, it was to be their time to die, they were to go together, surrounded by children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews and their own red-headed spawn, a death that was to be peaceful in every way possible.

Giselle had been fine with this fate, for out of everything else she had desired for herself, peace was the highest ranked amongst them.

So, with that in mind, she had kept as close to the Score as she could, walking a narrow road in hopes that, one day, what she had seen as her future would become her present. She threw herself into her studies and training, knowing that, if she wished to catch the eye of a superior officer, she had to be superior herself to her peers. Hours were whittled away with tutors as she perfected her Ancient Ispanian, hundreds of targets were destroyed as she perfected spell after spell, pushing her control over the fonons to her limit, and by the time she actually left home to become a Knight, thousands of specially made bullet casings littered her home's front yard, testaments to the days she had spent figuring out how to use the strange weapons her father had designed just for her.

If she had thought that the paces her family had forced her to go through before sending her away had been difficult, that thought was quickly wiped away by her first day in Daath.

When Giselle arrived, she was not only the smallest and the weakest in her class, but she was also the least trained, every other recruit having spent their entire childhoods under the impression that, from the moment they had been born, being a soldier was no other option.

For them, there was no promise of peace after this, no promise of a quiet, happy life when their tour was through- almost all of them knew they would die a solider, one way or another, and so had dedicated their lives to just that.

So she did the same.

Training was hard- she was beat, over and over and over again, only just barely able to push herself to her feet before being put back down. Classes were hard- instructors and other classmates discussed topics she had never heard of as easily as if it was common knowledge, leaving her quiet in class as she struggled to catch up.

But she did. It took years, years of fighting, of learning, of throwing herself into books and tactical sequences, of extra lessons she sought from teachers even when she didn't have the time, putting off sleep and rest for them. When she wasn't in class or learning she trained, trained and challenged others in her class to train with her, throwing herself into everything.

She became the best, became the highest ranked in her class, and when she finally came to the end of her training, when it was finally time to join her brother as an Knight, when it was finally time to step fully on the path that would lead to her destiny?

It was postponed, the greater number of the men and women she had been trained under sent off to the field, to fight a minor battle that should have been simple, easy, that should have been quick and easy to complete.

She followed after, against all orders, to watch as her brother, in the main unit her teachers were meeting up with, fought.

And watched as they were utterly destroyed.

She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stand there as she watched the unit be destroyed, watched her teachers and her commanders and her brother be slaughtered, watched as everything she had ever known was murdered in what was supposed to be a simple stopping of an uprising.

She tried to help, when she regained use of her legs, tried to run down to the battle field and help. But her weapons were no good from that far away, her spells too weak to do more than stop one or two of the beasts that trampled through her people, tearing through them like the parchment their orders had been written on, and even then they only stopped them temporarily. They did nothing to stop the carnage, did nothing to stop the bloodshed, did nothing to help stop the death.

She found her brother, eventually, after the battle had ended and she was able to walk freely across the field, her shoes dampening with blood as she stepped between the bodies. He'd been hit- whether it was a weapon or one of the beasts that had been brought in that had done the damage, she couldn't be sure, but the wounds weren't ones he could survive. Not without a healer, a medic, someone with a handful of apple gels to help close the gaps in the flesh, stop the blood flow, force the organs spilling into his lap back where they were supposed to be. None of which she was, for she couldn't use the seventh fonon, only had the most basic of medical training, and hadn't thought to bring anything actually useful with her when she had left the compound to follow after them.

He wouldn't live, not in the long run, but if she didn't do something, he would continue to suffer. And she couldn't let him stay in pain.

Her face a stony mask, it was with a single, last kiss on his forehead that Giselle pulled the trigger, ending her brother's suffering before it could properly take hold of him. Fighting back the scream that was rising within her throat as his cool blood splattered against her neck and cheek, it was with only the slightest of winces that she wiped it away, removing every last trace of the deed she had been forced to do. Biting her lip to keep it from trembling, the now nameless woman, for Giselle Oslo had died with her brother, left the camp to hunt down the man who was truly responsible for Marcel's death.

Little did she know that she was walking straight into the destiny that had been chosen for her long before her birth.


End file.
